


Crack

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Snowman's kneeling at your feet. But you don't feel like you're in control of this situation at all, no more than you did years ago when she'd slink into your office and make your life hell. She's in control, her and the way she trained you, and all you can do is wait for the chance to fight it. If you can. And if you want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crack

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme as usual :D

You're at Felt Manor, around midnight, which is a time you tend to operate around. You might have timed it so you ambushed Snowman in her bedroom at your time of the night, but you're not copping to anything. You've been here for a few minutes, and up until now you've been mouthing off, because that's just not something you can stop around her.

"Why don't you go on home, Slick?" she asked, voice insinuating itself into your ears and squirming.

"Why don't you blow me, you heinous bitch?" you asked in return.

She starts walking towards you, then, and shit you always forget how tall she is, she's got a foot on you in those heels, and you scramble backwards into a desk as she gets closer in some faint memory of self-defense being more than just more offense. You thought she'd pull out a whip or a gun or something but she just _keeps walking_ until she's into your personal space and you're stammering protests at her. Then she's closer still, pressed against you with her breasts at face height and oh yeah, you also forget how her body feels against yours, those long shallow curves waiting for your teeth or fingernails to set into them.

For a second she's just looking down at you with a twisted smile on her lips, the smirk you know so well, the smirk you've hated since you first saw it and it's only gotten worse. "If you insist," she says, and then she drops a couple feet in height as she kneels and starts working at your belt, and if only you hadn't tried to defend yourself because now you're trapped against that fucking desk.

Wait. What. What is she doing? Well okay, you know what she's doing. She's got your belt off and she's rubbing her chest up you, reaching between her breasts to unzip your pants. You just don't know why. Okay. You- you can deal with this.

She slips your cock out of your pants and wraps her fingers around it. Judges. "Mm," she says, considering. "Already hard." Of course you're hard, this fucking bitch knows what she does to you. She fucking trained you this way. It used to be it was every day she was tormenting you, perching on your desk and placing one bare foot against the bulge in your short tunic and pawing against it (and then slapping you with a punishment for the messy desk). Punishment, fuck, like dealing with her wasn't the most humiliating thing you could imagine every day.

You're red and trembling with fury just thinking about it, and then you might sort of lose a bit of it as her mouth closes around you, warm, hot, coming unexpected caught up in past misery as you were. You suck in air through gritted teeth because you're already hard like steel and sensitive, and it's her doing, or really, her training's doing. Once in awhile, on unanticipated days drawn out to make you expect her to stop, she'd keep going past her infuriating teasing, past her turning you on and leaving you to stew. When your temper began flaring too much and you became more of a liability than ever, she'd start the exact same way, rile you up and turn you on and make sure you knew not to move, and then she'd slide down your body, all long legs and cruelty. She'd coil between your feet as you gripped your desk and dug your fingernails in and she'd pull out your throbbing cock. Black lips teased you, her tongue would dart out to play against the tip, and despite her intentionally slow play, laughing at you straining at her, you'd come in minutes, spurting white over your black uniform, and she'd laugh long and cruel and saunter out. You'd struggle for minutes to regain your brain functions and then have to frantically throw your office around to find something to clean yourself up with. You don't know why you bothered. Everyone knew anyhow.

Nowadays you don't know how you ever deal with her, when the past keeps eating you alive whenever you get together. When you look down again, mouth curling in a snarl at her, but really at her years ago, she just smiles and runs her tongue along your length, circles around the tip, and plunges back onto you. Her lips aren't just black now. They glint green.

Her mouth clenches around you. You feel yourself shaking, and you grip the desk with both hands to stabilize, to redirect sensation. Your teeth interlock as you grind them together and you strain your neck around as you suppress coming for now and swallow it down. It takes enormous effort and you're still straining and desperate but at least you won't have shot off the moment this bitch called. She's going to have to work for it now. She can't just order you around anymore.

You only fucked her a handful of times, the times you snapped off the fucking handle and couldn't take her using you. You hated those times too, because even the satisfaction of sinking your cock into her, even the rush of euphoria and the glowing satiation afterwards couldn't make up for the thought that she allowed you to. You wish you could believe you pinned her down and fucked her the way you wanted to, but she had _the Ring_. She could have ripped you off and pinned you to the floor any time she wanted. She was in control the whole time and even having her face-down on the desk and rutting into her couldn't change that.

There was only one thing that did, and you hated the idea of it only slightly less than you did everything else. Once in awhile you'd catch a slight gasp, the hint of some true desire past her facade of distant amused cruelty. It wasn't that she wasn't distant, amused, and cruel. It was just that sometimes, you could make her crack.

So you did, because that was better than the usual, mostly. You shoved your cock into her, deep, and twisted her clit in your fingertips until she started breathing fast and twitched around you. You hated the idea of pleasing her. But then she'd moan, she'd cry out long and low in a sound that could carry through the halls, and as much as you hated the thought of everyone knowing the Queen could have you whenever you wanted, it wasn't as bad when they also knew that you fucked her until she screamed.

The King never made her howl like that, and that was the only bearable part of the whole situation.

Her teeth draw you forcibly back to the present, which is good, because you were starting to shake with bitter anger and it was drowning out everything else. Okay, maybe it isn't good, exactly, feeling her rake her sharp fucking teeth down your shaft like she's going to fillet it. In fact it's not good at all. "Hey ow, fucking watch it," you gasp, and raise your hand to smack her.

Then her tongue swipes over where her teeth ran, hot and wet, and her eyes fix on you in that particular way she's got. She could be beside you or across the city and she'd look up and stare green lances into you without having to find you first. Her eyes open, and no matter where you are, they grab you instantly. She doesn't need to tell you to back the fuck down, you stupid moron. She just looks at you and you do it, hating every moment you obey her but doing it anyhow. Your hand stops midair. Fingers twitch once, then you clench them into a fist and pull it back to the desk, watched the entire time by almond-shaped green eyes that freeze the world around you into motionless focus. When she looks at you, it's like the whole world turns and watches you and just _waits_.

Then, as if your protests were a challenge, she applies herself, wrapping long fingers around your shaft and swiping her tongue across the tip. Her fingers slip along it, pump you steadily, drag you closer to finishing. In your head, you have a brief image of yourself being physically dragged across the floor, fingernails leaving long trails in the ground. You dig them into the table instead.

"Get up here," you mutter, your words shaking their way out of you. She shakes her head almost imperceptibly and something about the way she turns her head with your cock still buried in her mouth almost sends you over the edge again. "F-fuck," you shudder. "Fine." She can just stay there and go without. You don't care. It'd be a nice change to see her wanting and you sated, for probably the first time ever. Later you bet she'll rub one out thinking of you anyhow.

That thought, the brief idea of Snowman laying back in bed with her fingers between her legs, hips rocking into her hand, that pretty much does it. Below you she's unmoved, cool and smirking even around your shaft, but in your head she's just as fucking desperate as you are, and that intoxicating image tilts the world and throws off your balance so much your orgasm almost hits you by surprise and you can't stifle it down any longer.

Your head twitches back automatically and your knees almost give out. You clasp the back of her head with one hand and have to support yourself with the other. She's still sucking, pulling the last out of you until you're drained, her mouth hot and tight and clamped down on you. Finally, she swallows, and you can feel the motion all the way along your body until she slips off you. Dead calm, she wraps her long fingers around your wrist and extracts your hand from her hair. You're so dizzy and drained you don't even shake her off and take your hand back. You just let your legs give out and fall, the both of you on your knees on the floor.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. It's actually alright that way. You catch your breath and don't watch her, just enjoy the sensation. It takes a minute or two for you to find the energy to zip your pants up again and remember what balance is, and by then she's up again and your little moment of coexistence has vanished. You remember through the haze of endorphins that she did this, that she dragged you along and made you do whatever she felt like. That she controlled you and denied you. That makes you feel a bit more like yourself again.

She's readjusting her dress, sliding her bra straps up her arms, and you think, this really wasn't any different from the palace. She just did what she wanted to and it happened to benefit you this time. There's no guarantee that next time will. But unlike the palace, you realize all of a sudden, you're on equal ground. The thought hits you like a lightning bolt.

"I know why," you groan, stumbling to your feet. "You just didn't want anyone to hear."

She laughs, a high tinkling sound. "Oh Slick," she croons, "if you think you're the only man to ever hear me moan, you've got another thing coming."

"Nah, I bet all of Felt Manor has heard you whining for more," you reply. "But if they heard you when you weren't faking it, they'd all catch on that I'm the only one that _makes_ you."

And for a second, before she laughs it off and insults you back, you can see the wide-eyed admittance of truth in her too. Only a second, before she covers it up, but that's enough. That's enough. Because this might not be anything like the palace these days, but despite it all, you know you can still make her crack.


End file.
